The Thrice Blessed
by Elennar9466
Summary: Of Chris and his sons,set in the changed future.I don't own Charmed,just this plot and my original characters! Under revision currently
1. Sex and alcohol

_**Prologue**_

Christopher Perry Halliwell was having one of _those _days. A teacher had made a less-than-gratifying remark about his relative lack of powers. A spell of his had backfired, and a friend of his had ended up in hospital as a result.

And just when he'd thought that things couldn't possibly get any worse, he'd walked in on his so called girlfriend with his nemesis- in bed.

A deep sigh escaped him as he walked the San Francisco streets. He could've confided in family, of course. But something deep inside told him that he just wouldn't be able to face all that today- the outrage, sympathy and guilt of his family.

The teacher in question would probably get sacked; or blown up-whichever came first. As for his sworn enemy, he'd hear from Wyatt presently (an encounter he wouldn't be likely to forget in a hurry).

An adult could argue that things weren't all _that_ bad-that remarks of others don't erode your quality unless you let them. That girlfriends come and go-it's not the love of your life cheating on you.

But, eh, there is such a thing as teenage angst.

_I need to be around strangers tonight_, the 16 year old thought. P3, his mom's club in no way fulfilled that criterion- most of the people there had known him for _years_, not to mention that Piper herself would probably be there.

Finally, he orbed near a club clear on the other side of town. Glamouring to make himself look around 20, he went in- he did _not_ want to be 16 tonight.

Sitting at the bar, he ordered and downed a glass of bear. And another. And another… and another.

It wasn't until the 12th or 13th mug that he noticed the incredibly gorgeous 20 something girl sitting next to him, who was eying Chris with well, lust.

The witch elder's eyes raked over the woman's clothes (or the lack thereof)- a top so skimpy, it'd be more fitting to call it a bra. And the skirt? Let's not even go there, people!

"Hello." He started to say, when a certain body part of his rose up and did that for him.

Playful mischief lit up her eyes as she said, "I'm Bianca, who're you?"

"Chris," he said, and leaning closer he whispered, "I want you in bed tonight…"

Chris wasn't exactly an 'I want you in bed tonight' kind of person, but alcohol does _really_ funny things to people.

5 minutes later, Chris and Bianca were…. Well, use your imagination.

* * *

A sharp rap landed on Chris' head at precisely 8am the next morning. "OI! SMART ASS! GET UP!" said the oh-so-quiet voice of his older brother.

Under normal circumstances, Chris found the decibel level of his brother's voice decidedly bothersome, to say the least.

That morning, however, given his drinking spree of the night before, coupled with him doing exactly what you imagined him to be doing most of the night, Wyatt's wake up call sent daggers of pain shoot through his skull.

"Ungh… go away… bug Darmuid…" he grunted, turning over.

And that was when Wyatt decided to give the sheet Chris was under a hearty tug…

"JESUS CHRIST!" Both brothers simultaneously hollered.

"I heard that the 'natural' look was in this season," Wyatt admonished, his hand tightly covering his eyes, "but don't you think that's things a _bit_ too far?"

"Yeah, well, if you didn't barge into my room at the crack of dawn everyday," Chris countered, hastily pulling on his boxers, "you'd've been spared the _ghastly_ sight."

"I've been doing that for _years_, Chris. You should know better. Besides, it's not like you…" Wyatt's voice trailed off as he took in the pile of clothes lying in complete disarray on the floor of his otherwise neurotically organized brother's room.

The 18 year old's eyes widened as he put two and two together. With mock accusation in his eyes, he wriggled a finger at his brother, "Christopher Perry Halliwell, _what_ were you up to last night?"

The brilliant shade of scarlet that adorned Chris' cheeks was answer enough.

"Betcha Melissa had the time of her life last night!" Wyatt teased.

"Maybe," Chris bitterly answered, "can't be sure though, seeing that she spent it with Dean."

"Oh." And a second later, "So who'd _you_ do it with?" Chris gave his brother a cliff notes version of the night before. Wyatt shook his head, not being able to decide between anger, concern and laughter.

"Huh, at least you used protection, right?"

And as this utterly new and _very_ disturbing dimension to the night's events occurred to the witch elder, he groaned and began hitting his already throbbing forehead with his fist.

"_Chris_!" Wyatt hissed, his mind shifting rapidly towards the 'anger' side of the spectrum, "Do you mean to tell me that not only did you get _drunk_ last night, but you had unprotected sex with a total _stranger!_ Do you even _know_ how screwed up you could get!"

Chris did actually, _quite_ well. Piper being the thoroughly thorough parent that she was, had made _sure_ her boys were well aware of 'the birds and bees', as the euphemism goes.

And sexually transmitted diseases were pretty much on the top of the discussion, along with teenage fatherhood.

Chris let out yet _another_ groan as a different issue tugged at his by-now-wide-awake mind.

"There's _more_?" Wyatt asked incredulously, his mind a whirl wind of anger stemming solely from concern for his little brother.

Chris hanged his head in shame like a 6 year old, stuttering, "I think… she... was magical."

Wyatt threw up his hands in frustration, "And the hits just keep comin'! _Well,_ what was she? Witch, demon, warlock, what?"

"I don't know, all right?" Chris snapped back, "My senses weren't exactly at their best!"

"Yeah, well, you should've thought about that before!" Wyatt berated, concern making his tone sharper than intended, "_Chris!_ You are the one of the most powerful witches in the history of magical kind! Demons've been trying to do you in ever since you've been in the womb, for cryin' out loud!"

He then launched on a somewhat disturbing and unseemly tirade on how a man's, er, semen, could be used in curses against him. That along with the possibility of a child being raised demonic, but with Charmed blood in his veins.

All of which, and quite understandably so, did absolutely _nothing _to improve Chris' state of mind. He sighed in resignation as his orbs began to envelope him.

"Hold it!" Wyatt cried, pulling his brother back down, "What're you doing?"

"Going to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge." Came the sullen reply.

"Don't bother too," Wyatt critically observed, "if you go up there at _this_ hour dressed in your boxers, you'll die of hypothermia anyway.

Besides, do you have any idea what mom and dad would do to me? It is, after all, my life's _mission_ to keep you safe!" He dramatically ended

Softening his tone, he continued, "I'm sure it's not all _that_ bad; in all probability, she's just another witch, who you'll probably not hear from again.

We'll check the Book just in case, O.K.? C'mon, man, get dressed."

Five minutes later, as the brothers were flipping through the hefty tome, Wyatt impishly asked his brother, "So, how hot was she?"

Chris' emerald eyes glazed over in pleasure as he replied, "If you but knew…"

* * *

"You're different." Lynn informed her daughter, Bianca five days later. Although the two lived in the same city, mother and daughter barely saw each other.

Bianca was too caught up in her life, while Lynn was too caught up in hers, to actually spend too much time together. Not that they were too keen on it, anyway-the relationship that they shared wasn't exactly the typical mother-child bond.

"Different, how?" Bianca enquired, genuinely puzzled.

Lynn sighed, and closed her eyes, concentrating. Ten seconds later, her eyes flew open in shock, "You're pregnant!"

Bianca was utterly flabbergasted, "Sorry?"

"You're pregnant." Her mother repeated once more, as Bianca inhaled sharply, her face paling in shock.

She stood up from the chair she'd been sitting on, and whispered, "But I can't be… I don't want to be…"

Her voice rising to a hysterical pitch, she all but screamed, "_I can't be a mother! I'm 20! I have a life!_"

"Get a hold of yourself," Lynn told her daughter apathetically, "when did it happen?"

"Umm, umm," Bianca muttered distractedly, gathering her thoughts before replying, "I think five days ago. There was this boy who-" The phoenix witch was interrupted by a demon shimmering into her apartment.

With pre natural timing, it threw a sizzling energy ball towards Bianca, while the phoenix instinctively threw up her hands: the demon along with the energy ball was incinerated in a fiery blast.

"What the hell!" The 20 year old wondered out loud, and looked up at Lynn enquiringly: the anger that she saw in her eyes left her shocked and surprised.

Lynn walked up to her, and without warning, her palm connected with Bianca's cheek in a stinging slap

"You slept with a Halliwell!" she growled, her nostrils flaring. "No, mom, I swear I didn't, I-" Bianca's denial was cut short by her mother.

"When did _this_," Lynn said, indicating the younger woman's stomach, "happen?"

"Five days ago." Bianca replied guiltily, and then continued, "But I don't see how that's possible, that man was at least 20, and both the Charmed sons are still teenagers."

"Has it ever occurred, my _genius_ daughter," Lynn enquired, her voice dripping with sarcasm and contempt, "that the Halliwell sons have the ability to _glamour_?"

Bianca was left speechless- it actually hadn't occurred to her.

Lynn shook her head depreciatingly, "Go on, go to the clinic, young lady- and get that thing killed. A descendant of one of the Twice Blessed will wipe out our entire clan! Don't you see-" she indicated the pile of ashes on the floor-"it's _already_ started. Pretty soon, upper level demons will be coming in- and we can't ask _either_ side for help!

Little indeed did she know the power that was growing inside her daughter. Scarcely had Bianca left for the clinic, that bright sapphire orbs erupted inside the apartment, depositing a harried looking Bianca on the floor.

"It won't let me." she said, helplessly. Over the next 6 hours, Bianca and her mother tried every thing from sneaking, shimmering and even transportation through spell craft to get to the gynecologist- and failed miserably at it.

When all else failed, she resorted to magickal means of abortion: which failed perhaps even _more_ spectacularly- Lynn's spells shattered as easily as brittle glass.

"There's no other way," she sighed after 3 days of ceaseless effort, "your children-" for she had sensed a few hours prior, that there were not one, but three magickal lives growing in Bianca's womb, "-are just too powerful. They will have to be born."

"But-" Bianca started to say, but Lynn held up a hand to silence her, "you can give them up as soon as they're born."

_**Nine months later**_

"C'mon, push harder, Miss Summer, we're almost there!" The doctor said, as Bianca screamed in utter agony. "_I didn't ask…for this!_" She kept shrieking, and after what seemed like eons, 3 infants were born to her.

At exactly the same moment, every single candle in the Halliwell Manor flared on their own accord as the triquetra on the Book of Shadows glowed with power.

3 infants were left on 3 different door steps that night.

**_Hope you liked it!Please review!And for anyone who hasn't read my "A past Life's Mistakes",Darmuid is chris' youunger brother.   
thanks _**


	2. Maybe

_**Chapter 2**_

"Hail to the Guardians of the East," Rebecca Dawson chanted, casting her Circle, "Element of Air, I hereby do summon thee, I hereby do call on thee. Hear these wor-"

_Thump._

There was the decided _thump_ of a heavy-ish something being set down upon her porch. _What on Earth could it be at midnight? _She thought quizzically, casting a sidelong glance at her set altar, at the burning candles and incense. But feeling a somewhat incomprehensible urgency to investigate, she put out the candles (saying a silent "I'm sorry") and briskly got up.

The first thing that she saw on opening her door was what seemed to be a picnic basket stuffed with a blanket. The second thing that she observed was that the said 'picnic basket stuffed with a blanket' was in fact, moving.

"Oh, Goddess…" she said faintly….

* * *

Srija was restless: a restlessness which she hadn't felt in years. As she walked through the cold, silent San Francisco neighborhood on that damp December night, her instincts twitched urgently, almost begging her to do _something_; the pity was that she hadn't the slightest idea what that 'something' was.

Although it was December, and almost 20 degrees, she didn't feel the cold. Or perhaps, to put it more accurately, she _felt_ the cold, but paid no attention to it. Why would she, knowing that it was completely inconsequential for her: the magick that she had been imbued with made it impossible for any force of nature to be able to kill her, or even harm her in any way?

So, dressed only in a skirt and a blouse, she walked on, oblivious to the fact that a normal person would be dead from hypothermia by now.

She sighed, feeling her growing trepidation, and her frustration at not being able to pin point its source made her reckless. With a slight hand gesture, she reversed the laborious cloaking spells she'd woven for herself, and instantly; the world transformed.

The darkness of midnight was bathed in a riot of colors and shades: purple, orange, violet, red, pink, blue, russet, yellow; a whole gamut of shimmering auras and energies. The energy of peaceful creatures sleeping hummed at her ears, the very Earth that she walked on thrummed and pulsated with energy.

If you were to see her then, you would have seen a tall youngish woman walking, the cold breeze playing with her long tresses. You would have known that she was strong and proud and not easily swayed by others. You could've spied the total certainty and purpose of her every movement. But you wouldn't have seen her beautiful aura, lighting up the entire neighborhood, eclipsing everything else. You wouldn't have known that Srija had walked this Earth for millennia.

With each passing moment, her awareness spread in an ever widening net; and presently, she was able to sense every single plant, human, animal and energy for miles around; until she was almost one with them, her sense of 'me' ebbing away as she (deliberately) lost herself in her power.

_What's that?_ She thought suddenly, a few minutes later, her consciousness coming to rest at a thing which was _very_ out of a place. _Perhaps I've made a mistake_, she told herself, _it couldn't possibly be __**that**_.

But it was: her senses had never lied to her before (and given her age, that was indeed saying something), and they weren't lying now. Just around the corner, _dumped _on a house's porch was a baby, already half dead with the cold.

"Oh Goddess!", the 3600 year old witch exclaimed in shock, aiming bits and pieces of multilingual obscenities to the people responsible. And as she hurriedly gathered up the fragile being, she was instantly informed of two things: that the baby was a boy, and that he was magickally quite powerful.

The proof of the fact came a second later when orbs, _his_ orbs enveloped her, and instantly transported her to another porch a few miles away; right to another magickal baby.

As she pressed both brothers to herself, murmuring healing spells, she finally realized the reason for her earlier foreboding.

* * *

Five hours of frantic spell craft later, both infants were peacefully slumbering while Srija was left to contemplate the present situation.

There really wasn't any question that the two hadn't been wanted (a book shelf swayed ominously at her anger), or the fact that the parents (whoever they were, the bastards) had known perfectly well the extent of their powers: which would've also explained why they simply hadn't been given up to an adoption agency.

Sighing, she rubbed her temples; all the aforesaid ruminations didn't really amount to much when it came to _her_ involvement with all this. She cast a glance at the babies, a glance that held as much fear as longing.

She couldn't really give the two up for adoption with the way they were, already capable of orbing. She could bind their powers; no, no, that wouldn't do at all: no one had the right to strip another of their birthright.

And she was alone. So, so alone for such a long time. Sure, she _knew _people, she knew such and such person's name, what they looked like, etc, etc.

But no one had _shared_ her life for more number of years (centuries) than she'd like to count.

She cast another glance at the two infants, and then at her 'appartment' (with candles, cauldrons, altars, athames and books strewn all around: she herself didn't have too much time for neatness), and then at herself (a walking embodiment of magick).

Maybe, just _maybe…_

* * *

"Rebecca Dawson?" A voice called, and Rebecca felt a whole host of woodland creatures parading around in her stomach (the proverbial 'butterflies' had apparently decided to transmogrify) as she entered the room directly in front of her.

"Hi, I'm Paige Mathews," the woman said cheerfully, "I've been dealing with your case, you see. Come on in, have a seat," she gestured to the chairs in front of her. Rebecca, not trusting her nerves to aid her, decided to just smile in what she hoped to be a cheerful manner (in reality, however, it ended up becoming a tooth achy grimace; and Paige thankfully interpreted it to be what it was: nervousness)

"We've waited the required period for any claims on the baby, but nothing's turned up," Paige said in her usual hyperactive manner, as Rebecca sat with her fingers secretly crossed.

Smiling to see how genuine the woman was, the witch whitelighter went on, "We've also checked out your profile, Miss Dawson and we've found that-", Rebecca held her breath, her heart seemed to have stopped completely, "- you're perfectly eligible to adopt him."

This time, a true 10000 watt grin fell unerringly into place as Paige was profusely thanked.

"Ever since I held him, I guess you could say that I fell in love," Rebecca said thinking back to 7 weeks ago, "but I didn't want to adopt him and then be told that I shouldn't have, or it was illegal. Can I see him?"

"Sure thing," Paige said, as she spoke quietly into the phone to bring in the baby, "anyway, apart from a few formalities, you're legally his mother now. So tell me, have you thought of a name for him?"

"Well, I've been thinking of calling him Joshua, I've always wanted to name my son Joshua."

"Joshua, huh? I like that name," Paige said, just as a nurse brought in the baby Joshua and handed him to Rebecca's arms. As she cradled her green eyed son, Paige got up to stand behind the younger woman's shoulder, taking a nice, long look at the infant.

_Strange_, she thought amusedly, _those are exactly like Chris' eyes._

* * *

_**Hey there!**_

_**You know what, I've decided to edit this piece MAJORLY to put in more of all 3 boys: I simply haven't been focusing on them enough, seriously. Which is why, I've decided to do this more or less from scratch again.**_

_**I hope that this doesn't irritate my 'original readers' a lot! Please, be nice!**_


	3. I Get Your Point

_**Chapter 3**_

Chris woke up feeling like he'd just forgotten something: a decidedly _big_ something, apparently, if one went by the way his foresight twitched like a tickled baby (or a pissed off Titan). Which was why he brushed his teeth, and then pulled on his clothes in an extremely preoccupied manner.

Still preoccupied, he somewhat sedately went downstairs (the teenager normally used the stairs in a way that made Piper cluck like an annoyed hen) to the Dining Room where his 10 year old brother Darmuid was trying to convince Piper that the fact that her favorite vase just _happened_ to explode right after he _happened_ to flick his wrist, was in reality, absolutely coincidental; and all accusations that were being leveled at him were totally unfounded, unjust, unfair and uncalled for.

Piper Halliwell, wouldn't you know it, simply refused to be taken in by her son's rather convincing arguments (at only 10 years of age, Darmuid could cheerfully talk a demon into believing he was actually a cursed wood nymph; and I'm not even trying to exaggerate here); and mother and son spent a good 15 minutes figuring out Darmuid's future sentencing ("Mom! I'm being framed I tell you, framed!")

Emitting a generic I-hate-the-world snarl, Chris grumpily sat down at the table, effectively getting Piper's attention. "Hey there!" Piper called out cheerily (with a good deal of caution thrown in); eliciting a slightly less caustic I-hate-most-things-in-this-world snarl from her son.

"Ah." Piper responded eloquently, as she quickly set to work: hard learned experience had taught her that the best way to get a moody, sullen teenager to stop hating the world was to flatter his stomach. And Chris's grateful grin at being served up generous helpings of grilled cheese sandwiches, bacon and eggs proved Piper's theory right once again.

As he munched on his breakfast, the Charmed One craftily asked her son, "So, now that you don't loathe everything anymore, mind telling me what's up with you?"

"Nuh 'dea," Chris replied incomprehensibly, swallowed and then reiterated, "No idea, and that's what's driving me up the wall, _not_ knowing what it is that's bothering me so much."

Piper, of course, was well aware of her son's almost obsessive (neurotic) insistence at everything occurring exactly at their appointed times, and how upset he could get at any failure on that score.

"Maybe it's something you've forgotten? A paper- _Darmuid!_ Don't touch Chris's sandwiches, take them from the plate there. And, by the way, I'm not properly done with you yet- that you were supposed to be turning in?" Piper hazarded, between parenting her youngest.

"Nope, that's not it, I'm positive I've turned in everything that I'm supposed to. And, _no_, mom," Chris continued as Piper opened her mouth to suggest something else, "there aren't any people I've turned into random rodents and forgotten about later: you'd know if I'd had, trust me. I seriously can't realize _why_ you seem to think I make it an occupation to transfigure people into random animals." The 16 year old ended with a trademark Chris-ish pout. "Because I don't, you know." The teenager put in for good measure.

The Charmed One countered with the traditional Piper-esque arch of the eyebrows, "Really? You know what, Christopher-" Chris flinched subtly, the use of his full name had never really boded well for him, "-Mrs. Drew would disagree with you quite vehemently on that point. And if my memory aids me, so would Mr. Fuller and Mrs. Combs and Miss Rowlands and Dean and Melissa and-", Piper stopped mid rant dramatically, and surveyed her son with smug satisfaction.

"I gt yr pnt." Chris mumbled.

Piper batted her eyes a couple of times for effect, "I'm sorry, sweetie, I don't _quite_ get what you're trying to say."

"I. Get. Your. Point."

"Sandwiches?" Piper offered sweetly.

"What's gotten _your_ panties in a twist, Christina?" A creepily perky Wyatt asked as he sauntered in a second later (in fact, Wyatt's aforementioned eerie early morning perkiness was a frequent bone of contention between the two brothers- Chris himself was physiologically incapable of waking up earlier than 9:30 am on any given day)

Not even bothering to retort, Chris merely growled a I'm-not-in-a-very-tolerant-mood-now-so-unless-you'd-like-to-spend-the-rest-of-your-life-with-feelers-you'd-better-shut-the-hell-up kind of growl, you know the one I'm talking about, right?

And as Piper went into the adjoining kitchen to get more sandwiches for her ever ravenous sons, Wyatt whispered quietly to Darmuid, "So whaddya do now?" Piper's dulcet voice had apparently carried to his room as well.

"I didn't do nuthin', I swear. All I did was experiment; I wanted to see how fast I could cast a spell…" The 10 year old answered glumly.

"Experiment?", Wyatt pursued suspiciously, "With what?"

"A vase."

"_Which_ vase, Darmuid? There're more than one in the general vicinity, y'know."

Never before had the pre adolescent fully appreciated the scintillating wonder of cutlery. They came in so many different shapes and sizes, and you could hold them in so many different ways. That's not to mention just how useful they were: where _would_ we be without them? Now there's a question Stephen Hawking would be hard pressed to answer.

"Which vase, bro?" The Twice Blessed witch asked once again, and finally Darmuid answered, more to the plate than him, "The green one."

"The _green _one? The one in the living room right there? The one that's mom's personal favorite?"

Chris joined in sadistically, "The one that _used_ to be in the Living Room, Wy, and the one that _used_ to be mom's personal favorite: but I guess our brother found a way around that."

Looking for all the world like an apologetic puppy, Darmuid responded, "I forgot that neither of you were present nearby."

A light bulb coming on, he asked enthusiastically, "Say, you two are like the prodigious Twice Blessed witches, right; more powerful than any living being, blah, blah and all the rest of it…aren't you?"

"Yeeeaaah…" Wyatt drew out the word, clearly suspicious of his brother's motives.

"Great! So blowing up something from a distance should be a cinch for you guys, then!" The 10 year old shot back with the enthusiasm of a person saved from the guillotine.

"Oh no. Oh, no, no, no! We're out of this, Der, got it? Out. Of. This."

"Where's Dad?" Darmuid whinnied desperately.

"In a meeting with Magick School's Teachers, he won't be back before 3 hours at least." Chris chimed in gravely, doing his Angel of Death imitation.

* * *

After breakfast, the mother-son argument raged on.

"You know the rules, Darmuid. I've to go without something I loved, so will you." Piper told her youngest with as much sternness as she could muster.

"But that's not fair! You can fix it with just 4 lines, 2 even!"

"For the last time, Darmuid, magick isn't supposed to be used that way! You use it to help other people, not yourself, you know that."

"But _mom_, it's only by helping myself that I'll be able to help others!"

"Darmuid! There'll be no more discussion on this matter, understood? You're grounded."

"So, I'm not allowed to watch TV, right?" The 10 year old said with surprising hope in his eyes.

_Huh, mine's probably the only kid in history who doesn't mind being forbidden to watch Television…oh well, Leo's cookiness had to find its way into one of them…all of them._

Piper cocked her head to one side, mentally debating the best possible way to phrase what she was about to say.

"Nope. Your allowed to watch TV all you like; but," (the prelude to a quivering lip appeared), "you're not to touch any book outside your schoolwork." (This time Darmuid's lips _did_ quiver)

_I'm a mean, heartless woman: all he ever did was experiment._

"The Book of Shadows is out of bounds for you till next week." A look of utter sadness and mourning set in.

_I should be burning in hell for this. I hate me. Bad Piper! Bad, bad Piper!_

The Charmed One braced herself for the coup de grace, so to speak.

"And you won't even be touching your journal."

_I don't even deserve to be a mother._

Darmuid slowly made his mournful way up the stairs, and Piper heard. Each. Painstaking. Step.

The Halliwell matriarch turned around to head back to the kitchen, to find both of her older sons blocking the doorway; arms crossed sternly across their chests.

"Oh for goodness sake, we're _having_ Darmuid's favorites tonight; now scamper off, both of you!"

* * *

"Oh, he's so cute!" Susan exclaimed at the giggling infant in her friend's arms. She lightly caressed the baby's cheeks, "Yes, you are."

Little Josh-for Rebecca had named him Joshua Dawson a week ago- gurgled happily in response from the relative security of his mother's arms.

"I know, I know: he's the single cutest thing in this world!" Rebecca gushed right back. Standing aside to let the woman in, the 20 year old took a moment to revel in the company of her friend: getting used to a baby around the house had pushed all thoughts of friends, family and work to the dimmest recesses of her brain.

"I was so _psyched_ when you told me you were going ahead with adopting him!" Susan said, flicking back her blonde hair as she rummaged around in the bag she'd brought. "Here they are!" She finally exclaimed, pulling out several chunks of clear quartz.

"Here, these are the protective crystals that you wanted: I've enchanted them with as much power as I could muster: evil shouldn't be able to penetrate them, _and_," the woman continued, putting due emphasis on the conjunctive at her friend's doubtful expression, "Evelyn will be bringing in a few obsidian crystals as well, so demons shouldn't even be able to _know_ that we're here. 'Ya happy now?" Susan tacked on exasperatedly at the end.

Rebecca grinned ruefully at her childhood friend. "Thanks," she said gratefully, "I generally don't get so paranoid, but with little Josh here…I can't help worrying a little, you know?"

Susan's warm brown eyes lit up with foresight as she confidently predicted, "You'll be a wonderful mom for him, believe me when I say that."

"You really think so?" The brunette asked, caught in a rare moment of vulnerability; sneaking a surreptitious glance at the cherub that she held against her heart.

Susan laughed and nodded, "C'mon, let's get ready for the Circle. Where do you have the candles, again?"

Half an hour later, the Drawing Room (temporarily rechristened as the 'Circle Room') was filled with women of Rebecca's coven. Josh had been laid on the crib in the middle of the room; inside the wide chalk circle: an outline of the real one, soon to be cast.

The place was awash with somewhat exuberant exclamations of 'There you are! I could just eat you!' and 'Oh! He's so cute!' and the flash of cameras; clicking pictures guaranteed to make Josh want to evaporate sometime in the not-so-distant future.

Evelyn Hale (true to her name, a hale and hearty witch of 60), the High Priestess of the coven was the last to arrive. "Oh Rebecca! I'm so happy to see you and Josh!" She gushed in her rich voice the moment she walked in, her words throbbing with sincerity, "Is he in the Living Room?"

Once all the protective crystals were aligned under Evelyn's guidance, and their power activated; the entire group assembled: the very air seemed to be charged with the anticipation of the coming rite. Some of them there like Susan and Evelyn herself, were witches by birth; and were long accustomed to the delicate hum of magick coursing through their blood. Most though, were practitioners, Wiccans, by inclination. In this coven, however, that hardly made a difference. Magick acknowledges no superiors, and neither did these women.

"We've gathered here tonight to bless this little one. Today is a Full Moon, a time of joy, of renewal, of prosperity." Evelyn stood up straight and proud, and even the mortals sensed her power, "Many of us are already familiar with the ceremony we're proceeding with: but still, for those of us who aren't- this is what we'll do.

Take your time, all of you; and think of that _one_ gift, or strength that you possess which you wish to give to little Josh. It can be anything really: the grandeur of the gift doesn't matter at all, you see."

She glanced at the faces around her, and smiled at the panicked expressions many of them held. She spoke again amusedly, this time, "And if you can't think of anything at all: old fashioned good luck can't ever go wrong, you know. After you're done, come up to him, one by one; and placing your hand on his forehead, picture the said quality passing onto him, OK?"

A pregnant 5 minute long silence greeted her words, until Rebecca came forward, "I'm ready, Evelyn."

The High Priestess merely inclined her head towards the crib, indicating that she should proceed.

Placing her hand on Josh's delicate forehead, she felt her heart accelerating ridiculously; and she understood the power that the ceremony held.

"I give you my power to see life for what it is: beautiful and loving. Always be happy, child."

One by one, all women did the same: and the 'gifts' were as multitudinous as the women who bestowed them. Ranging from music to science, everyone had something to offer.

Evelyn was the last one to go. "I give you the gift of magick, little one. Always be in touch with the magick inside you." She caressed the infant's cheek, and Josh seemed to gaze back at her with uncanny intensity (_Newborn babies aren't supposed to be able to focus, right?_)

And just like that, the magick happened.

Evelyn, standing the closest and the most powerful, was the first one to sense it. There was a dizzying burst of power from the child, as it effortlessly brushed aside the magick of the Circle with its sheer force; and every single candle in the entire house flared up joyously.

The power within the boy subsided almost as soon as it'd come, and Josh was left gurgling happily, extremely pleased with himself, apparently.

The 60 year old was the first to recover. "Susan," she instructed calmly, "check if the crystals are still working, will you? Recharge them if they aren't."

She turned to the rest of her coven, "Anyone who's capable, please help her. Reinforce the crystals with whatever protective or cloaking enchantments that you know."

A tense 10 minutes later saw Rebecca's house emptied of the rest of the Coveners: well, every one except Susan and Evelyn, that is.

The 20 year old brunette sat on the Living Room couch nervously clasping and unclasping her hands as Susan sat beside her, attempting to comfort a nervous wreck of her best friend.

"This magick deal isn't really so bad, seriously. You'll learn to laugh at it soon enough, trust me on that."

"Not so bad? _Not so bad?_" Rebecca squeaked hysterically. "If he were a non-witch, I'd be a marginally acceptable mom. But if he's a witch, not to mention a powerful one, how can I possibly be the best thing for him?"

Susan made as if to cut her friend's rant short, but wasn't even given the chance.

"I mean, I know that I'm a Wiccan, and I have been for 6 years. I can teach him all about the Sabbaths, I can tell him all about the correspondences…but the actual magick?

_I _wouldn't be able to relate to all his magickal growth pains." Her voice broke as she continued further, "D'you know how much that can mess up a kid? Having to come home to a place where he isn't understood? Do you, Susan?"

Her heart broken voice gave way to an edge of terror as her apprehensions ran riot, "And I won't even be able to protect him properly!"

At this, her friend managed to cut in, "Relax, the demons won't be that big a problem. I'm sure our Coven will be able to work some pretty serious enchantments, and we can even get outside help, and-"

"And what of the Cleaners, then? You know that it's gonna happen sooner or later, jeez, Susan, he's just a kid! He'll make a hiccup every now and then…and I won't be able to cover for him. How long till The Cleaners decide that he's a risk and…and erase him?"

The blonde sitting beside her rallied on bravely, "Well, we can try to-"

She was, yet again, cut off; this time, by a derisive snort, "We can try to what? Threaten them? Keep using magick until they give in? We're not The Charmed Ones, Susan. The side of Good doesn't hinge on our survival: they'll simply erase us too without a second thought."

Susan bit her lip nervously: there was no reasoning with Rebecca when she got this way. She threw a nervous glance towards the kitchen where Evelyn was supposedly making herbal tea for the distraught mother.

_Evelyn had better be packing a whole herb garden into that drink_, the blonde mused grimly, _nothing short of that is gonna keep Rebecca from getting a heart attack._

Perfectly on cue, Evelyn's graceful form appeared on the doorway, bearing a tray of steaming hot tea and chocolate cakes.

Susan sighed with relief as she sensed the magickally enhanced herbs in the tea: there were several reasons why Evelyn had been unanimously chosen to be the High Priestess; and this was one of them.

"There you go, dear," she said as she handed Rebecca her mug; and then proceeded to sit herself.

"You know," she continued thoughtfully as she bit into her cake, "I've been thinking while I was making tea: this needn't be a problem at all."

"Really?"

"Yes," the 60 year old replied with practiced nonchalance, "we can always bind Josh's powers, you know. Or better still, strip them."

"NO!" The thunderous rebuttal came only a nanosecond later as Rebecca sprang up from the sofa, upsetting her mug.

Evelyn smiled inwardly at this: under the circumstances, this was exactly the reaction that she'd been hoping for.

"I am _not_ standing in the way of what he is…I'm _proud_ of what he is…and if _I _can't be enough for him, then I'll find someone who will be. But I. Am. Not. Changing. His. Nature. "

To her utter mystification, both Susan and Evelyn burst out into delighted chuckles at her outburst.

"Oh, my dear child, we really _do_ have no problem, then!" The older woman finally said, "If you care about him that much, then I'm sure that he will always be understood and appreciated here."

"You said that binding thing on purpose?" Rebecca enquired, slightly miffed.

"Certainly, my dear child," Evelyn replied unabashedly, "if you'd agreed straight off, _then _I'd be worried. All your concerns, while hardly baseless, are still very easy to conquer. Trust me on that. And just for the record, I know for a fact that you'll be a wonderful mother."

"If you say so." Rebecca answered uncertainly. But her hysterics _did _end after that.

* * *

Daniel and Gabriel were driving Srija crazy: but in the best possible way, of course. The first few weeks after the twins' arrival was marked by a frenzy of activity by the witch; all of which happened to be illegal. In all technicality, anyway.

They included everything from magickally forging Birth Certificates to Adoption Papers- things which most other witches would think at least a hundred times before doing. But that was Srija all over, of course.

She'd had several millennia worth of experience under her belt, and trusted her judgement implicitly: a few magickal tweaks here and there which never hurt anyone was hardly an abuse of power in her eyes.

_Daniel and Gabriel._ She cast another wary glance at the two sleeping forms, shivering with delight as she did so. While 'filling in' the paperwork, Gabriel was the name that had come instantly into her mind for the first infant that she'd been led to.

Gabriel was her little angel: her cherub, with his aura of pristine white that never failed to astonish her with its beauty. And as for Daniel…well, going by his vibrant orange aura, he'd be adding quite a few grey hairs onto her head (figuratively speaking, of course).

She sighed exasperatedly as her eyes fell upon the clutter that remained in her apartment.

As of now, her home was a shocking study of contrasts: one half was completely neat and orderly, the way that any other normal house would look.

The other half, however, retained the look of a witch's house: with its miscellaneous assortment of tools, herbs and esoteric books.

That was what came of manually trying to clean a few decades worth of clutter. (Srija had moved in sometime in the 1990's after she'd left Europe, having tired of it)

That had been a conscious decision on her part though, not using magick to tidy up. For while she herself was in no danger of abusing her powers, her sons were. Whatever that it took, Srija wanted to impress upon them for the very start- magick was not something that you use to clean up your life, period.

So between tending to two newborn babies (one of whom could orb and the other had recently developed telekinesis), she slogged to give her house some semblance of normalcy. Not to mention safety…she'd cringed with sheer terror at the idea of so many athames in the same house with a telekinetic baby.

Srija stashed what could very easily have been the thousandth athame she'd handled that day itself ("Really, I never realised before: why on Earth do I need so many knives! You'd think that I went in for ritual sacrifices on a daily basis!") into the nearest cabinet; enchanting it locked for good measure: Daniel had already begun to get 'creative' with his telekinesis.

She looked warily around the room once more; and grimaced as she spied yet another sharp dagger dangerously near the cribs. With an aggravated cry, she bolted forwards, and safely clutched the potential weapon to herself; safely out of reach.

But her rapid movements woke up the brothers: and both were currently gazing at her almost amusedly.

"OK, you guys can conjure things too, can't you?" She demanded playfully, her senses carefully sizing up the power that the two held.

"No, you can't, can you?" She concluded a moment later, "At least not yet: this is just your mom being a shameless impulsive purchaser. Goddess, I'm _never_ going to another Craft Store again!"

With another stern look at Daniel (the begennings of an impish plan was probably forming inside his head already), she proceeded to hide away some of her more, well, belligerent books: the kind that bit if you got too close.

_**I know, I know: I've taken a LONG time with this: and somehow, I'm not very satisfied with it!**_

_**Nonetheless, all reviews would be much welcome!**_

**_Lots of love to EVERYONE who reviewed! Also, the character of Nathan Black will also feature more prominently here, so we have another childhood to look forward too!_**

* * *


	4. Av'viri

_**Chapter 4**_

Breakfast at the Halliwell Manor on that particular Saturday morning was business as usual. Translated, that meant Chris was predictably late, Piper and Darmuid were arguing over something (yet again) and Wyatt and Leo were the only ones doing what they were supposed to be doing: eating breakfast.

"No Darmuid!" Piper admonished the umpteenth time, "You _cannot_ get the Goetia from the bookstore, and neither will you be borrowing it from the Magick School Library! I am NOT going to tolerate Ceremonial Magick in my house, please understand that!

Any books or scrolls that involve summoning spirits and entities-" Her glance encompassed Wyatt as much as it did Darmuid, "- are strictly out of bounds within this house."

Fixing Leo with a plaintive glance, Darmuid whinnied, "But, but, ask Dad! He knows that Ceremonial Magick isn't really dangerous unless you don't know what you're doing! Daddy?"

In reality, the mortal tried to avoid situations such as these as much as possible: inevitably, he knew that Darmuid would end up enlisting his help in order to garner support for whatever hair-brained scheme that he'd brewed.

And Leo, being Leo, would inevitably give in and try to plead in favor for his sons. It usually ended with him sleeping on the couch that night, of course; and hence the aforementioned aversion to the said situations.

Today however, he'd been effectively cornered. So preparing himself for what he knew to be a long, uncomfortable night on the couch later that day, he cleared his throat and spoke, "You know, Piper, he's right. Ceremonial Magick has such a bad name mostly because of dabblers. There's nothing to be afraid of if you know what you're doing.

And besides," the mortal ended with an attempt at airiness, "those spells take a lot of power. Darmuid's powers probably haven't matured to the requisite levels anyway."

Piper threw a look at the man that made him want to dive under the nearest table and snorted. "Please. You should know your sons well enough to know that even magickal laws don't necessarily apply to this household.

Tell me Leo, what _sane _parent-", The Charmed One placed (un) due emphasis on the adjective, "-would condone their sons harnessing perfectly sentient and not necessarily benign third parties to magnify their magick?" The 48 year old paused histrionically, letting her point sink in.

She rounded on her sons- Wyatt steadfastly kept devouring his pancakes, while Darmuid stared at his plate- and spoke with an ominous ring of finality, "Whatever your arguments in favor of this, Darmuid, you will _not_ be practicing any mode of magick which doesn't strictly fall within the purview of Witchcraft until you're at least 18…got it?"

"And where on Earth is Chris anyway," the witch continued after a brief glance at the clock, "his breakfast'll get cold if he doesn't hurry…" Her voice trailed off vaguely as her second son materialized from his usual cloud of sapphire orbs at the doorway.

Chris was dressed in a pair of tight, black jeans and a black skin hugging see-through shirt. A silver pentacle dangling on his throat completed the ensemble.

And for the first time in years, Piper Halliwell was struck dumb with shock. A good 30 seconds of utter silence passed

Opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish, the Charmed One finally managed to find her voice, "Um, just where do you think you're going dressed like that, young man?"

Her mind, of course, was already swimming with birds and bees. Truckloads of 'em.

Mischief sparkled in his emerald eyes as Chris answered, "Up there. I have a meeting with the Elders in an hour."

With an all mighty snort, Wyatt's orange juice suddenly found itself splattered all over the kitchen table.

"You're…going…to the…the Elders like _that_?" The 18 year old choked out amidst fits of laughter.

"What's not to like? I'm sure they'd like a change every now and then."

In the end, Piper decided not to be too difficult with her son's choice of clothes. (secretly, she agreed with him: a nice shock every now and then should be beneficial for the ever inertial Elders. And besides, she had other ways of venting her trepidation…)

* * *

A pleasant surprise awaited Darmuid as he entered his room after breakfast: a black leather bound book lay conspicuously on his bed.

Eagerly picking it up, he smiled: THE LESSER KEY OF SOLOMON, A TRANSLATION OF LEMEGETON. On the 1st page, he found an inscription in Wyatt's loopy handwriting,_ To the biggest geek I know. This is only for reading, mind you- start practicing from here, then forget Mom, I'm binding your magick myself. Be safe- Wyatt._

"Thanks, bro!" He whispered, and he knew that Wyatt would hear him, wherever he was.

* * *

"Blessed Be, Christopher." Zoya greeted, speaking as if he'd recently undergone a root canal surgery without the Novocain.

"I'd say 'how are you';" Chris replied acerbically, "but since your well being doesn't interest me particularly, let's just settle for a: 'why do you want me here?' shall we?"

"Certainly, my dear boy," Zoya replied, his voice implying that Chris was anything but for the Elder, "I'm sure you understand that I have several things to attend to. Edward, I'm sure, would love to do the honors instead. Edward?"

The name came out as a plaintive whimper for help; and Chris reined in his laughter with extreme difficulty.

A cloud of blue orbs answered Zoya, and as an (apparently) 18 year old emerged from it, the older Elder sagged with visible relief.

"Edward, please enlighten Christopher about the matters we've discussed." And with that, Zoya gratefully orbed out.

This suited Chris just fine, of course: Edward, thus far the youngest Elder around, was the only one of his kind that didn't make the willful 16 year old want to kick something. Hard.

The blonde standing before him wasn't quite as cautious as the rest of his kindred; the least willing to see every change as a threat. And most importantly, Edward happened to possess the rare genetic quirk (always assuming, of course, that Elders had a genetic makeup to begin with) that allowed an Elder to see a joke.

"Interesting style you have there. Chris? What inspired it?" The Elder in question asked, referring to the outlandish way the witch-elder had decided to dress himself.

"A morbid fascination to cause emotional trauma to your kind, of course. What else?"

"Ah, nice to know that we're one big happy family." Edward leaned closer conspiratorially, "Don't take this the wrong way or anything, but you're _hot._"

He guffawed (you have no idea how out of place that verb sounds when placed with an Elder) at the fleeting shock on Chris' face. "Touché, my friend." He said airily.

At that, the witch-elder laughed along with him: not for the first time, he pitied the fact that Edward was the exception and not the rule.

"I'd be seriously careful, if I were you," the teenage witch-elder advised sagely, "I wouldn't put it past the rest of your kindred to stick a knife into you when you're not looking. All for the Greater Good, of course."

Edward flinched subtly at Chris' choice of words, but thankfully, his reaction went unnoticed by the latter.

"Apart from hitting on me-which, by the way, I appreciate tremendously- is there anything else that you guys wanted me here for?"

Edward sighed, his face becoming more somber. "Ah yes. We called you here to talk about your charge."

That pronouncement in itself was sufficient to force a far more serious demeanor from Chris.

"What about Nathan?" The 16 year old asked warily, a ferociously protective edge creeping instinctively into his voice: Nathan Black was Chris' four year old charge; and the witch-elder felt that he was the boy's sole guardian. Which, in a way, he was; seeing that Nathan's mother had died during his birth and that his father blamed him for the incident.

"It's about his powers and his witch hood," Edward replied, with a wee bit more of caution thrown in; and hastily added, "these are just some things, a few facts that we've just confirmed a few days ago. Since you're his white lighter; I wanted to let you know."

Chris didn't miss the use of the first person pronoun and snarled under his breath: trust the Elders to find a threat in a 4 year old witch.

"What about them?" The teenager asked testily, "And for your information, I already know that Nathan's powers are abnormally well developed for a 4 year old."

Edward held up a hand to pacify the witch-elder; and started talking glibly, "What we've called here to tell you has more to do with the very _nature_ of his power; although, I'm fully aware of the magnitude of his magick."

Hands on hips, Chris waited patiently for the Elder to continue.

"Have you ever come across the term, _av'viri_ before, Chris?"

"Nope, never have; and I still can't see the connection between Nathan and obscure words, Edward. Humor me, will you?"

And at the Elder's expectantly raised eyebrows, Chris conceded, "Although I'd hazard the word sounds like it comes from Hebrew, or maybe even Yiddish, I can't tell."

"Perceptive," Edward commented, "you're right, it's Hebrew, and the word roughly translates to 'Spirit Witch'."

"And by 'spirit', you mean-"

"-The Fifth Element; yes, your surmise is correct. You're aware, I'm sure that every person; in fact, every living being can be attributed to one or more of the 5 fundamental elements; Earth, Air, Fire, Water and Spirit?"

Chris blew out a breath, gathering his (admittedly substantial) knowledge on the Elements and their bearing on magick.

"Well, yeah, that's definitely true: although, come to think of it, I've never heard of a person being attributed to Spirit. I mean, isn't it an amalgamation of the other four? The element that binds the rest together?"

Edward nodded thoughtfully in turn, "Yes, that's true. And the reason why you've heard of 'fire people' and 'air people' and 'earth-water people'; but never of a 'spirit person' would be because a Spirit person is very, _very_ rare; and must invariably be magickal. Even so, a spirit witch is born once every few millennia. If I remember my history correctly, the last _av'viri _was born roughly 3600 years ago."

"And you're saying that Nathan maybe the next one?"

"Not maybe, Christopher," Edward corrected, "he _is_ the next one, the next Spirit Witch; we only just established it yesterday; and imaginably, I thought that as his guardian, you should know this."

The 16 year old surveyed the older being with a glance, so uncannily piercing and shrewd that Edward instinctively took a step backwards. "You make it sound like being a Spirit Witch is apocalyptic in some way." Chris finally spoke, "What does it entail exactly?"

Predictably, the Elder took the more circuitous route in answering this relatively straight-forward question; "Well, you've observed him for 4 years now; what do you have to say about the nature of his power. What're his active powers?"

Edward was answered swiftly, "Based on what I've seen, I'd say that Nathan is a powerful psychic, maybe a bit too advanced given his age, but it's not that unusual."

The Elder interlocked his hands, supporting his chin above them; knowingly waiting for Chris to continue. The 16 year old in question contemplated the billowing wisps of white that passed for ground in the Upper Realms for one long moment, before looking back up.

"Now that you mention it," he said thoughtfully, "sometimes, I _do_ feel that there's something different about him. I mean, I haven't shown myself to him so far (I intend to do it on his birthday, 2 days away); whenever I'm with him, I cloak myself. But sometimes, though, it's like, it's like he already _knows_ that I'm there. And that he's not saying so merely for the sake of politeness."

Edward nodded thoughtfully, "I anticipated as much. You see, for most other witches, their magick can be, for all practical purposes; separated from the rest of their 'normal lives'. For example, if I were to discount the several odd homicidal demons, it would be quite possible for you to turn your back on your magick. All you'd have to do is stop using your power."

"I take it that it isn't the same for Nathan?"

"Absolutely. As far as he is concerned, Nathan the witch and Nathan the boy is one and the same thing. Every single one of his senses, from his sight to his sense of smell; _everything_ is attuned to detect magick. He doesn't have just one 'sixth sense' that picks up on the supernatural. For him, the supernatural _is_ natural.

I'd imagine, for example, he would be able to see (and I use that verb very loosely for he'd be using all his senses, not just his eyes) the complex energy changes accompanying a spell. Succinctly, while the rest of us detect magick's presence simply by its effects; Nathan is capable of knowing it directly: he doesn't need to resort to the circuitous route that we have to follow."

Edward's words were met with uncharacteristic silence on Chris' part. But finally, the witch elder spoke, slowly; laboriously, "But to be sensitive on that scale…wouldn't it drive _anyone_ crazy?"

"Anyone but Nathan, someone who was born that way. Your aunt Phoebe is the most powerful empath in recent magickal history; if anyone else, even one of her sisters were to switch powers with her, it would drive them to the point of insanity: but I'm sure we can safely say that Phoebe herself is quite immune to that side-affect. Why is that?"

"Because she was born to handle that power." Chris replied as realization sank in. "So trying to switch powers with Nathan would not only be fool hardy, but dangerous as well?"

The Elder's obsidian eyes locked with Chris' emerald ones, "It would be nothing less than suicidal-", he paused for dramatic effect, "- if it were at all possible to do so."

"Sorry?"

"These are very important things that you must know about Nathan, Chris, since you'll be the one to guide him. This is why I called you here. There are a few things that distinguish _av'viri _from the rest of witch kind. Their magick is far more strongly bonded to them than others. Which means, on a practical level that spells on the lines of power transferals, power swapping, stripping spells simply _do not work_ on them. Even binding spells aren't very effective, all they do is suppress their power, they can't-"

"Why does it sound to me like we're talking about some demon that I'm supposed to vanquish?" And behind the façade of polite curiosity lurked the wrath of a Warren witch.

"It sounds that way to you," Edward replied with anger of his own, "because you choose to interpret it in that manner. Did it ever occur to you, Christopher that I'm telling you all this so that you can tell _him_ these things when you deem fit? Did it ever occur to you, that Nathan might someday want to rid himself of his powers: and you must be the one to tell him that he can't? Being a white lighter isn't just about telling witches what herb does what, it's about teaching them to appreciate magick. It's also about showing them everything there is to know about themselves, about their magick, about their potential.

You asked me whether being an _av'viri _was apocalyptic in some way: then yes, Christopher, yes it is. It is cataclysmic for no one but the witch himself: for he has to live with the fact that he wasn't given the right to choose. Nathan cannot choose not to be a witch unlike everyone else; the only other option for him is death. And as his guardian, it is your duty to help him in such a way that he doesn't even need to consider the second option. And for that, it is imperative that you know everything you can about him."

The steely edge of the Elder's anger dulled as he gently ended, "I'm only trying to help you. I would rather have Nathan become the Source of All Evil later in life, than hurt him now and risk losing a wonderful person and a witch."

Suitably abashed, Chris hung his head not only in shame, but also in sadness. "So, heaven forbid, if the time comes, I'll have to be the one to nail his coffin, is that it?"

Grabbing hold of his shoulders, Edward spiritedly urged him, "No, that's not the point. Don't you see? It won't ever come to that because _you'll_ be there for him every step of the way."

Chris' lips turned up into a crooked smile, "You make it sound like it's a given that I'll be good at this. It's one thing to train a person in magickal principles; and another to actually…well, whatever it is that I'll have to do for Nathan. I'm not sure that I can do that."

_No 'I'm-the-unbeatable-Christopher-who-can-do-anything attitude', he must be feeling particularly inadequate_; Edward thought grimly, observing the teenager's demeanor.

"You can do this, Christopher, because magick chose you for this task. Out of all the hundreds of white-lighters, you were the only one who Nathan connected to."

"That's something I guess."

* * *

Chris had this habit he lapsed into whenever he was under severe stress: he paced. Up and down, round and round, figures of eight- you name it, he's done it.

So after 2 whole days of relentless pacing that drove his family to the brink of insanity (wouldn't you know it, the Manor had the poorest sound insulation possible in a house: so if one member decides to emulate a restless spirit; it's pretty much a problem for all concerned), Leo was elected (commanded) to tactfully ask what was the matter with his 16 year old son. Or, perhaps more realistically, simply demand what in the name of Hades was up with him (there's something about prolonged insomnia that tends to kick tact, or all similar emotions thereof, out the window).

So with no small amount of trepidation, Leo knocked and poked his head into his son's room, to find Chris sitting Indian style on the floor, surrounded by a veritable deluge of books: hardly the most unusual of occurrences so far as Chris went.

"How are you, son?"

Chris, on his part, curved one eyebrow into a perfect arch, "Fine. Why?"

Ignoring Chris' declarations utterly during times like these was a specialty of Leo's. So with a perfunctory 'hmm', the man crossed the room and sat down beside his son; turning his face expectantly towards Chris', waiting for a more truthful answer.

"You've got to be kidding me." The boy muttered before resolutely returning to his books.

Books on _parenting_, actually, Leo noted with acute surprise: 'How to be a Good Parent', '100 Tips on Parenting', 'Learning How to Say No', et cetera.

The older man jerked his head questioningly up at his son, the silent, "Well?" hovering in the air between them.

Typically, with an exaggerated sigh of exasperation (for all we know, it may well have been one of relief in reality), Chris turned towards his father and began to explain, "It's about Nathan, my charge."

"Nathan…weren't you supposed to show yourself to him soon?"

"Umm hmm, tomorrow, actually. And well, I guess, I…" Chris' voice trailed off into a worried sigh.

"I take it that's why you were called in 'Up There' yesterday?" At his son's nod, the man continued, "What did they have to say?"

"That Nathan's supposed to be an _av'viri_."

Chris carefully searched his Leo's face for surprise, shock, apprehension, maybe even fear: he got none. All he saw was the ever serene expression, that solidity which both he and his brothers had come to associate with their father.

Feeling compelled to elucidate further, he went on, "I guess, I've never really realized this before, but Nathan is so young, what I do or say has the power to mould him. I mean, just leaving off at teaching isn't going to do, is it?"

"A white lighter's job is always more than that of a teacher, Chris. Although, granted, this will be a bit different, with Nathan being only 4 years old. Is this the reason for all these books?"

Leo took the generic grunt from Chris to be a yes.

"And what have you gotten thus far?"

"A load of f-" Chris paused, and amended, "a load of nothing, actually. Or at least nothing that makes sense anyway. I mean, none of this is coherent; or concise, for that matter."

A mildly amused expression crossed Leo's face: "Well, that's probably because there really aren't any _8 Simple Rules for being a Good Parent_, contrary to what you might think, Chris."

_Why is that not a big surprise?_

"Although…I guess I could come up with one such golden rule, the rest you have the freedom of making up."

"Yeah? And which one's that?"

"Never believe a brave face, Chris. Never believe that he doesn't need you, regardless of the number of times he tells you that. Above all, never, under _no_ circumstances allow him to think that you have time for everyone else in the world except him: that's the only advice I have to offer you, son."

The most curious expression of unendurable agony flickered over the older man's face for a heart beat, gone even before his son could fully register it.

"Thanks, Dad." Chris replied, and he knew that this was advice far more useful that what any book could give him.

* * *

Dreary gray and stifling purple. Those were the first colors that Nathan registered when he woke up the next morning. The gray, of course, was easy enough to account for: sadness was something his house had in spades. In fact, he couldn't set his eyes on anything within the place without detecting some shade or the other of gray.

As for the purple: well, that was a bit harder to put into words. You and I would call it the quasi piety of a holier-than-thou attitude; Nathan, on the other hand found no word for it in his 4 year old dictionary.

But then, in Nathan's world, things like that abounded: things which he knew as intimately as breathing itself, but had no verbal word for. He had no term, for instance, for the delicate hum of the oak tree 3 blocks away soaking up the sun. No word came to him for the profoundly powerful thrum of the Earth when he walked on it; or for the brilliant shades of colors that spilled merrily from the neighbors: yellow and orange didn't even come close. And he could go on for days on end with examples such as these.

Looking around his room, his eyes came to rest on a spot roughly 3 feet away from his bed: there it (he?) was again. That something or someone who had been coming into his room for years now: it was there, but covered up, like someone covering themselves up with a blanket: Nathan's senses could pick up on the energy, but his eyes couldn't see him.

Deciding to let it be as always, he shimmied out of his cot and sedately made his way downstairs for the supremely dreaded task of meeting his father: and without even consciously thinking about it, he knew that the said man was currently in the kitchen, and for that matter, neither was he at his best of moods.

And as he left his room, he could tell that the disembodied presence followed him.

Downstairs he found his father, Reverend Joseph Black standing with his back to him at the kitchen counter: and boy, was Nathan in for trouble. Scarlet anger bled into the air around him like blood gushing from a gaping wound, and Nathan knew that all that scalding anger was aimed at him.

"Morning, father." He greeted tentatively.

"Today is the 5th of September, boy, what day is that?" Calm, so eerily calm was that voice.

Petrified with fear, Nathan felt himself freeze; unable to utter a single sound.

"I asked you a question! ANSWER ME!" Scarlet thunder flashed, and Nathan managed to make a stuttering weak reply, "My….birth…"He paused as acidic pain burned his throat, and then changed his reply, "the…day…I…I…killed…_mom_."

Maybe it was the way Nathan said it, like he believed it to be the gospel truth, or perhaps it could've been the white hot fury that sprang up inside him at the scene; but Chris's normally vice like grip on his powers flickered; and with it, so did his shield.

The four year old felt it the moment it happened; and he flicked his head to the right; only to find a flash of an aura disappear behind a shield again. But before he could make a sound, a strong hand grasped his; and a kind voice whispered into his ear, "Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you. Can we go back up to your room, buddy?"

Silently he nodded, and stole a glance at his father bent up over the table. Today, of all days, Nathan knew that he wouldn't be rebuked for staying locked up in his room- in fact, the less his father saw of him the better. Quite as a mouse he stole back up to his room.

The pure white of serenity, tempered with pink affection and yellow radiance lit up Nathan's entire room five minutes later as Chris finally dropped his shield.

The grays and the browns in his room fled and scattered at Chris's sun-like bright aura; and Nathan's own eyes lit up like a pair of Christmas lights.

"You're white…and, and yellow and pink." The four year old said in tones of utter adoration, his hands running through the air half an inch away from Chris's body.

"I'm white and yellow?" The teenager asked confusedly, looking himself over._ I look the same as I always do. What's he going on ab- oh!_

_He sees my aura_.

He flashed the child his best smile and gravely said, "Hey, guess what? You get yourself an angel all to yourself!"

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_**Hi all! I know what a shmuck I've been with this story, so I won't even begin to apologize: I don't deserve to get even that.**_

_**I'd all but given up on this story. Sadly, while I don't regret starting this thing over (I've been reading the original, and I wanted to throw up in parts: that's how bad it was); I'm getting brand new ideas for the original Thrice Blessed, as in with teenaged Josh, Daniel and Gabriel. *sigh* I hate me.**_

_**The saddest part is that I don't want to rush this part of the story either; y'know, I'd really rather not go from baby triplets to adolescent triplets in the space of 3 chapters.**_

_**Anyhow, since Nathan will be a regular OC, I figured I might as well put him in as well. Also, I know that the ending isn't good: I'm not done with it. The next time I update- whenever that will be (I'm a commitment-phobic)- please do check out this chapter, it'll have additions.**_

_**Last, thank you Chrissy from Crazy DFF Gang for that PM- you're the one who galvanized me into posting this!**_

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